Rachael Coy and the Good Slytherin
by FountainOfPens
Summary: Slytherin House has always had a bad rap. It seems like the whole House is full of snoots and Dark wizards. But Rachael Coy believes that a wizard is a wizard, no matter where they came from. Will her friendship with Draco Malfoy damn her or save her?
1. Prologue: The Sorting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. The only thing that's mine is the plot and, of course, Rachael Coy.

**Author's Note: **There is swearing and slash in this story (eventually Harry/Draco). If either bothers you, you are perfectly capable of clicking away from this story.

**Summary:** Slytherin House has always had a bad rap. It seems like the whole House is full of snoots and Dark wizards. But Rachael Coy believes that a wizard is a wizard, no matter where they came from. Will her friendship with Draco Malfoy damn her or save her? And what is it with him and Harry Potter?

**Prologue: The Sorting**

Imagine an eleven-year-old girl with dark brown hair, falling in loose curls down her shoulders. Her blue eyes, usually piercing and giving off the light of intelligence, are tinged with fear. She quivers, sitting on a stool on a large stage in a room filled with chandeliers and hundreds of other students. The Sorting Hat is placed upon her head.

_Hmm_, it says, _what have we here? You are an interesting case, Ms. Coy, very interesting indeed. You are proud, intelligent, ambitious… but you don't share the traditional beliefs of pureblood wizards, do you?_

The girl shakes her head. _No sir, _she thinks, _I believe that a wizard's a wizard even if he crawled out of the Forbidden Forest foaming and spitting,_ she thought proudly. Her family didn't really approve of her libertarian beliefs, with the exception of her mother, but the girl is proud of them, because she knows they are unique. If she is anything, Rachael Coy is unique.

_Hmm… Do you like a challenge, Ms. Coy?_

Rachael ruminates on this for a moment, as she knows it will determine which House she'll be sorted into. Her eyes slowly grow steady. The fear fades.

_More than anything, sir,_ she thinks to the Sorting Hat.

"_Slytherin!_"

Rachael stands, satisfied, and marches over to join her new House's table. She looks about, curiously examining everyone at the table. Many of them seem to know each other already, and Rachael thinks she might recognize a few faces as well. But no one speaks to the dark-haired girl; in Slytherin House, she would later learn, you have to prove yourself worth listening to first. So Rachael sits in silence, playing with the hem of her robe, until at last food appears before her. She begins devouring it, ravenous. She is hungry, so she forgets the manners so painstakingly taught her by her mother and grandmother—possibly the only thing they had agreed on teaching her. This earns her a few dirty looks.

"Er—who are you, exactly?" asks the girl across from Rachael. She, too, has dark hair, but hers is straight, and her brown eyes are hard. She looks like a pug, although Rachael scolds herself for thinking that—she shouldn't judge others based on appearance.

"I'm Rachael Coy," Rachael answers. "Good to meet you."

"Ah, the Coy family. Yes, they're essentially a good family, but I think a few of the branches are withering, don't you, Draco?"

The platinum blond boy next to her says nothing. He merely watches, expressionless, as Rachael's face heats and she says coldly, "How dare you say that. I know my mother's views are uncommon among purebloods, but I know they're right! I pity the prejudiced!"

The other girl rolls her eyes. "A blood traitor. We don't need people like that, now do we, Draco?"

But the blond boy continues to ignore her. Rachael stuffs food into her mouth, close to tears. _I know I'm right, I know I'm right!_ She chants in her mind. _I know I'm right…_

She sits ramrod straight in her seat as a thought occurs to her. _Could the Sorting Hat have been… wrong?_


	2. Chapter One: Who, Me?: Fourth Year

**Chapter One: Who, me?—Fourth Year**

Fast forward to fourth year. The last of her baby fat has receded from Rachael Coy's face. Her dark curls hang to mid-back, and the piercing blue eyes no longer seem too large for her button nose and vulnerable mouth. Puberty is well under way, and her slender, pale form has started to garner notice from members of the opposite sex. Her quick mind has garnered the attention of her teachers, and she is teased not only for being a blood traitor but also for being a teacher's pet. She has yet to make lasting connections with her peers.

This didn't bother Rachael much, or at least she didn't show it. She had had to learn to fend for herself, but despite the ambition the Sorting Hat had noticed in her when she had been sorted, Rachael did not see fit to do more than that. She was quite content to be on her own, both socially and ideologically.

She was particularly content to be alone on a cloudy day, reading by Hogwarts Lake. The school was alive with the excitement of hosting the Triwizard Tournament, which Rachael didn't have an opinion on aside from "Well, if they want to get themselves killed, that's their choice." She turned a page, not really concentrating on the text, but rather thinking on something rather odd that had occurred yesterday.

Yesterday, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had been after her like hellhounds, knocking her precious books out of her hands and even going so far as to kick her when she bent to pick them up. They had flung all manner of curses at her when no teachers were around and made her miserable all day. Until…

_Rachael had had enough. That was the last time they were going to hex her! She drew her wand and cast a bat-bogey hex on Goyle. However, at the same time, Crabbe shouted, "Expelliarmus!" Her wand had flown out of her hand. She tried to scrabble after it, terrified. Crabbe had gotten rid of her bat-bogey hex, and now both boys were grinning horribly, raising their wands. Rachael closed her eyes, prepared for the worst…_

_ "Stop! Leave her alone!"_

_ Rachael opened her eyes. She had to be hallucinating, because wasn't that Draco Malfoy standing between Crabbe and Goyle and her prone form?_

_ "Well? I said leave!"_

_ Crabbe and Goyle turned slowly. Draco turned to her and offered his hand. "Are you all right, Rachael?"_

_ Rachael had been too stunned to take his hand at first, but eventually got herself together and let him help her up. "Um, yeah—they cursed me a lot, but I think I'll be okay. Um—thank you," she said sincerely, "Thank you so much. I'll tell you right now that I don't understand what you just did, but I am grateful."_

_ Draco had just smiled back at her mysteriously._

What reason could he possibly have had for saving Rachael? He had never been her aggressor, sure, although others in his group of friends definitely had. But they hardly ever talked; in her four years at Hogwarts, she had barely said twenty words to him, all told. And besides, he was a Malfoy. He was supposed to hate her blood-traitor guts! And yet…

Rachael sighed, closing her book and leaning against the tree she was sitting under. _This train of thought is quickly getting circular._ She stared out at the lake, hopelessly confused.

A sudden warmth next to her alerted her of the presence of another human being. She figured she knew who it had to be, but waited for him to speak first.

"So, you're probably wondering why I called Crabbe and Goyle off you yesterday." The voice of Draco Malfoy said next to her. He laughed a little. "And probably wondering why I'm talking to you today."

"Yes, I am," said Rachael. Her eyes wandered to his chest, where a button flashing 'Potter Stinks' in green letters was pinned to his shirt.

Draco smiled, following her gaze. "My own invention of course." He sighed. "But anyway, there are a few answers to the questions you've posed me, and they might be a bit hard for you to understand. Hard for anyone to understand. But I'd appreciate it if you'd try, and of course I in turn will attempt to explain this in the clearest terms possible."

Rachael nodded. "Sure."

Draco took a deep breath. "To start with, Slytherin is the hardest House anyone can be sorted into. People are obsessed with family and names, and if you can prove that someone else is 'less' pureblood than you, your status is raised considerably. It's a vile caste system, and vicious. I'm not proud of quite a few things I've done as a result of its teachings." He stared out into the lake for a moment, a faraway sadness coloring the pale, sharp lines of his face.

In that moment, Rachael felt an aching sympathy for him. She knew what it was like to grow up pureblood, but she had been lucky because of her mother's liberal views and because by being excluded by Slytherin society, she was exempt from its rules and mores. In that moment, she could forget that she was speaking to Draco Malfoy. In that moment, all she could see in front of her was a boy whose pain ran deep into the marrow.

Draco started to speak again. "There are very few true friends in Slytherin. Everyone is necessarily out for themselves. Everyone keeps all their hurt and all their poison inside, except that which they're allowed to show—for instance, hatred, if it's directed at the right people." Draco's pale hands took Rachael's, and his gray eyes were locked desperately onto her blue ones. "Rachael, I'm going insane! I need someone to _listen_ to me, and to listen to! I need honesty. I need trust. And I've seen you. You're alone. You're not polluted by pureblood ideals or by Slytherin codes of behavior." Draco sighed. "I just need a friend. A real friend." He laughed, running a hand through his white-blond hair. "You probably think I'm crazy by now."

Rachael put up a slim finger. She thought, which was what she did best, and after about five minutes, she came up with three conclusions. One: Draco Malfoy was serious, and was offering her friendship. Two: Draco Malfoy was in pain. Real emotional pain, as real as anything physical. And three: that her own pain was a firm supporter of the dictum "misery likes company," and that she would love to finally have at least one friend at Hogwarts.

So she said to Draco, "No. I don't think you're crazy. I think you're hurting. And that's far from the same thing." Draco took her hands in his again, unable to say anything, and a friendship was born.

Rachael was used to eating alone, so she always brought a book with her to breakfast. However, before she had even really settled in, a pale hand shoved the book away from her face. She frowned, staring up into the face of Draco Malfoy, who was deserting his goggle-eyed friends in order to sit with her at the edge of the Slytherin table. "Hi there," said the Slytherin Prince, quiet amusement lighting his gray eyes.

"Good morning, Draco. I'd be much obliged if you'd get your hand off of my book."

"Well," said Draco, sliding in next to her, "that depends on whether you'll keep talking to me if I remove my hand."

Rachael's eyes sparkled. "You have about a fifty-fifty chance."

Draco laughed and took his hand off of her book. "So have you done the bloody Divination assignment yet?"

They talked amicably. At first, Rachael was worried about the murderous looks being sent their way by Draco's friends, but upon seeing her anxious glance, Draco had said, "Don't worry, Rachael. They won't hurt you. I'll do any explaining they want me to do later." And he had smiled at her, and Rachael felt safe.

However, as soon as Draco had gone—he had had to leave breakfast early, muttering something about "Harry fucking Potter getting me into detention _again_,"—Pansy Parkinson marched up to Rachael. "Are you dating Draco Malfoy?" she asked loudly.

Rachael's eyes grew as wide as saucers. Then she started to laugh.

"What the fuck is so funny, Coy?"

"Nothing, just—oh my god. No. I'm not dating Draco."

"Is he fucking you?"

Rachael gave Pansy a dumbfounded look. "No—I—I mean—we're fourteen, that's—I mean—"

"Yes or no, Coy." Pansy's tone was dripping with venom.

"No. We're friends."

"You weren't friends yesterday."

Rachael blinked. "Um—well, that's a bit complicated. You'll want to ask Draco—" but then Pansy grabbed her by the robes, shaking her a little.

"You stay away from Draco Malfoy," she hissed, "He is _my_ man, you hear me? _Mine_!"

"I don't want to be his girlfriend, Parkinson! Calm down!" Rachael said hurriedly. "Please, I—we're just friends."

Soon after, Pansy left. And as she packed up her books and got ready to leave for class, Rachael Coy wondered just what in hell she had gotten herself into.


	3. Chapter Two: Small Manias: Fifth Year

**Chapter Two: Small Manias—Fifth Year**

By the end of fourth year, Rachael and Draco were inseparable. Rachael was still picked on by his friends and other Slytherins, but almost half the time now, Draco was there to fend them off. He always came to her, sooner or later, if something was bothering him, and Rachael felt touched that she could comfort him, really know every facet of Draco's personality. She had the sneaking suspicion that she might develop romantic feelings for him, because what she now felt was so intense and so comforting, but every time she got worried that she'd fall for the Ice Prince, she had only to look into herself to see that for some reason, she could not see him as her lover. He was, if anything, her brother, and for that she loved him dearly.

Summer had been annoying. He had only been able to visit once or twice, and although she offered to come see him, he declined, always with a strange anxious look in his gray eyes. _Clearly_, Rachael thought, _I don't know _everything_ about him._ But she didn't press it. Whatever it was that was bothering him was either trivial or not something he was ready to talk about yet, so she let it be.

Draco had told her that was one of her strengths: that she knew when to press him and when not to. He appreciated that she was patient with him, patient as so few others could be. Rachael had smiled shyly. "Anything," she'd told him, "for a friend." They had hugged.

And now, at last, they were in school again, able to see each other as often as classes and chance meetings in the hallways allowed. Rachael noticed that the other Slytherins pestered her even less nowadays. She imagined they were afraid of Draco as she was not, could never be, because she had seen the tender side of him, the side that held her when she was feeling alone and put up with, even laughed, about the half-joking tangents she went on from time to time, from teachers to other Slytherins to her favorite topic—Gryffindors. Oddly, she rarely talked about Harry Potter, the most famous Gryffindor in recent times. Draco had gotten curious and asked her why. She shrugged and replied, "I mean, I know he annoys you, and any enemy of yours is an enemy of mine, but—I don't know. I feel like, he's going to save the wizarding world, supposedly, and that's a huge weight to have to bear on your shoulders. I feel like he's got enough shit to deal with without having me whine about him behind his back when I've never even met the guy." She eyed Draco. "Not that I'm invalidating your issues with him, of course. That is entirely another story."

Draco had smiled in that appreciative, broken way before staring into space for a while.

She was still wondering about that. He'd asked her to stay with him at Hogwarts instead of attending the Hogsmeade trip. She had spent a minute debating, but really, what was there in Hogsmeade? Of course, Draco would never keep her if she wanted to go, but the look in his eyes had been intense, and Rachael had the feeling that whatever he'd wanted to say was important. So she'd stayed. But when they'd met up at breakfast, Draco had muttered something about wanting to see something, and could she wait until ten in his room? She knew the password by now, of course.

But it was ten-thirty now, and Rachael was getting worried. She knew he could be anywhere in the school, and that she possessed a sense of direction more akin to Christopher Columbus's than Sacagawea's, but she was worried and determined to look for him.

As soon as she'd gone farther than her furthest class from the Slytherin dungeons—the Charms classroom on the third floor in the East Wing—she was lost. She sighed and wished the spell _Accio_ worked on people.

By chance she ran into Professor Snape, and asked him whether he had seen his godson. But the professor shook his head, an odd look in his eyes. "Did he not go to Hogsmeade, Ms. Coy?"

Rachael shook her head. "I stayed behind specially so that I could talk to him."

"About what, Ms. Coy?"

Rachael colored slightly as she shrugged and said, "Well, I—I don't really know, Professor. He just said he wanted to talk to me about something." She sighed. "You're sure you haven't—"

"Yes, Ms. Coy. But… you stayed behind on a Hogsmeade trip just so that you could talk to Mr. Malfoy?"

Rachael shrugged again and said, "Well… yes. He's my only friend here, so I'd have no one to go with anyway." She took a breath. "Thank you, Professor. I'll try and find him soon."

Snape nodded and went on his way.

The terrain just got stranger and stranger as Rachael went, but finally she saw a portrait of a rather portly lady in a pink dress. To her amazement, there Draco was, talking to her. He seemed rather irate.

"I need to get in!" he was saying. "I just—I can't explain it, but—"

"This," said the lady, "is the Gryffindor common room. I have had a long enough tenure at this school to recognize a Slytherin when I see one. You shall have no access, sir."

Draco drew himself up and said coldly in what Rachael recognized as the Malfoy Voice, "You _will_ let me through, or there will be repercussions."

The lady laughed. "Ha! And what repercussions would those be? I have survived vandalism once, and shall surely do so again."

Draco rolled his eyes and finally stalked away from the lady. Rachael seized the moment and grabbed him, dragging him around the corner. "What the—" his eyes softened when he saw it was only her. "Rachael. I'm terribly sorry, I—I just had to do this."

Rachael raised an eyebrow. "You had to try to convince the portrait to let you into the Gryffindor common room?" she asked quietly.

Draco looked uncomfortable. "I—"

"Please don't lie to me, Draco. I think you owe me that. And you know I'll take whatever it is you were doing to the grave."

Draco sighed. That unbearable pain was in his eyes again, and Rachael took his hand, giving it a squeeze. "It, er—it has to do with what I was going to tell you in the first place, so I guess it's a good thing that this happened. Makes the telling easier."

Rachael frowned. "You know you can tell me anything free of judgment, right?"

Draco smiled. "Of course. But I—it's kind of… Well, you'll see. Shall we talk by the Lake, as per usual?"

"Sure. I mean, if you want absolute privacy, we probably ought to talk in your room, but the Lake's fine too."

Draco sighed. "I want to be outside. And anyway, almost nobody's crazy enough to stay back from Hogsmeade unless they're sick or really behind on homework." Draco flashed a smile at her, and Rachael knew it was his little way of letting her know he was especially grateful that she was crazy enough to stay back in order to help out her mercurial friend.

They walked to the Lake in easy silence, making their way to their favorite tree. It was a massive weeping willow, long tendrils of leaves extending into the water. Rachael and Draco ducked beneath the leaves and sat next to one another, leaning against the trunk. Rachael twined her fingers with Draco's. "Okay. Spill."

He rolled his eyes at her, but he was smiling. He took an anxious, shuddering breath. At last he said faintly, "Rachael, I'm in love."

Rachael smiled uncertainly at him. He didn't sound too happy as he said it, so she wasn't sure whether to react. _I guess it's unrequited? No matter. I'll beat whoever it is into submission_, she thought with a slight sardonic grin. "That's—that's great, Draco! With whom?"

"That's the problem." Then, Draco told her a long story about how he'd met Harry Potter, and the story of their animosity over the years. Rachael couldn't see the connection at first, but when she studied Draco carefully, she could see the look in his eyes, the pain that sometimes shot through their gray depths.

"So you're in love with Harry Potter." She squeezed his hand. "I'm so sorry, Draco."

Draco sighed. "Don't be. Wasn't your fault. It was me who fucked everything up." He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "But—but I was young then, and I didn't know any better! How was I to know my father was a bigot, that everyone didn't think that way? It's mostly been my pride keeping me from him all these years. I never had the guts or the humility to apologize and explain. And now…" he shot her an aching look.

"But I… I don't quite understand, Draco. How could you fall in love with someone who's only ever been cruel to you?"

Draco shook his head. "He was only cruel because he thought I was. But he's got such kindness in his heart, and such love! I'd never seen anything like that. I wanted it so badly, and I guess that translated into wanting… him, when I was older." Draco was quiet for a moment, picking at some grass. "Not that that's any justification, really. It was ridiculous and incontinent of me to let myself fall in love with him so deeply. Even if he did love me back, by some small chance or gesture of mercy at last given to me by the heavens, we could never be together. You know what my father wants for me…"

Rachael squeezed his hand again, worried. "You don't want to be a Death Eater."

"No! Of course not. Not when I love—and I don't want to hurt people. And don't say that name." He sounded hurt.

"Draco, don't be offended. I had to make sure."

He peered into her eyes. "What are you planning, Rachael? You can't get me out of service to the Dark Lord. That's impossible."

Rachael just smiled. "Believe me, Draco, possibility doesn't have standards."

"Rachael…" there was great concern in his eyes. "I don't want you to get hurt. Please. I'm touched by your offer, but you'll get yourself killed if you try to steal a potential disciple of the Dark Lord, however unwilling the disciple may be." He leaned back against the tree. "And anyway, maybe he'll find me unworthy."

Rachael let him sit there quietly, but thought, _No, he won't. Draco, you're smart and handsome and you're seen as the face of Slytherin. He won't see the sweet, loving, caring person beneath the façade as I have. And if he sees later that he's been swindled, he'll kill you._ She tended the dying embers of her hope. She needed to, for him.

Suddenly he said, "You're not surprised about the Harry thing?"

She laughed. "No. It makes a lot more sense that you hate him so much now."

Draco laughed too, but bitterly. "Yes, well. My—I guess it could appropriately be called obsession with Harry Potter is just one of the many small manias that make up the barking mad whole that is Draco Malfoy."

"You're not crazy. You're just weird sometimes."

He laughed for real this time. "I thank you for your glowing praise, Rachael." The pain receded from his eyes, and Rachael knew that she would do anything to keep the ever-present agony at bay for this boy on the cusp of becoming a man, for this friend, for this person who had become her brother.


	4. Chapter Three: Research: Fifth Year

**Chapter Three: Research—Summer of Fifth Year**

Rachael darted through Knockturn Alley, fancying she could hear dust mushrooming into the air after being disturbed by her steps, loud on the cobblestones. The dark cloak she wore fluttered around her as she walked, her blue eyes shifting left and right anxiously. She held her wand nervously in a tight, sweaty grip.

She made a turn, then another. She stopped to look over the sign and nodded slightly to herself. Rachael felt a thousand eyes on her back, although she knew there couldn't be. Hesitantly, she walked up the shallow steps that led to Borgin and Burkes. She adjusted the hood of her cloak, making sure it covered most of her face. She took a deep breath, then pushed the door open and walked inside.

She did not know whether it was Burkes or Borgin at the counter, although she didn't really care. Draco would have known, she thought—he was good at remembering people, although he constantly made them feel insignificant. Rachael walked up to the ill-lit register. "I know you accept Death Eater custom," she said bluntly.

"We 'ave a don't ask, don't tell policy 'ere," the man behind the counter said carefully. "Are you from the Dark Lord?"

Rachael bit back an ironic laugh. "No." She drew her wand subtly out of the folds of her cloak. She didn't point it at the man, instead merely letting the tip rest nonchalantly but conspicuously on the countertop. The man's eye was naturally drawn to it.

"Then who are you? And what are you here for?"

Rachael sighed. "I want to know everything you can tell me about the Death Eaters. Not who they are or any of that. Just what you know of them and their ways."

The man's face hardened. "I can't—" but when Rachael's pale hand casually flicked upwards so that the wand was at his jaw, he reconsidered. "I—they'll kill me."

"No one will know." She paused, then said the four magic words that any informant wants to hear: "You will be compensated."

The man moved to straighten his vest, only to have her poke the wand into his jowl.

"Or," she continued calmly, "you will be threatened. Your choice."

"Are you from the Ministry?"

Rachael tapped her wand against his jaw, hard. A green spark flew from it, stinging the man slightly. "I am the one asking questions here. Answer, or there will be consequences." A small part of Rachael's mind said, _What consequences? I'm not going to use an Unforgivable on him! I'm not even supposed to use magic outside of school for another two years. Come on, man, I'm scary! Be threatened!_

"Er… how much will I be—"

"It is lessening with each extraneous second you take up of my time."

"Right. Can I sit?"

"You'll tell me?"

"Yes."

Rachael smiled a benevolent smile with a cruel edge. "Good. Start with Lord Voldemort, why don't you."

The man shivered at the sound of the name, and started to speak.

#

Rachael got off to a less than satisfactory start at Borgin and Burkes. The man was clearly uneducated, and he spent at least half the time Rachael talked to him hemming and hawing. Surely Draco would know, but he was increasingly hard to get a hold of these days. And she was reluctant to bother him too much about the Death Eaters—although he could probably provide a valuable insider viewpoint, since his father had groomed him for it practically his whole life—since his father was in prison. She wanted to give him closure.

However, Rachael managed to persevere, having a particularly long talk with Snape. She spoke to her mother briefly, who spat and said, "Murdering scum," and wouldn't talk about it any longer. She tried other members of the family, but they either ignored her, changed the subject, or got very cagey and endeavored to be rid of her any way they could.

Rachael compiled her spare and scattered notes in a neat blue binder, carefully filled with neat composition paper unmarred by tears or dog-ears. She wrote carefully, making sure everything was legible.

Her investigations went uninterrupted, except for a period around midsummer when her mother found out about their subject. She had said in a tight, high-pitched voice, "Rachael, come into the library _now_. I need to talk to you."

Rachael had obeyed, slightly confused. Her mother was gripping the back of one of the plush armchairs in the high-ceilinged room. Her back was bent and her face drawn. She looked up at Rachael and asked quietly, "Are you thinking of joining the Dark Lord, Rachael?"

Rachael's eyes widened and said, "Merlin, Mother, no! Never."

"Then why are you researching Death Eaters?"

Rachael bit her lip sadly, anxiously. "It's to help a friend. He… might be forced into their ranks."

Her mother's eyes, the same piercing blue as her own, searched her daughter's face. Finally, finding honesty there, she said, "This is dangerous, Rachael. I won't forbid you from doing it, because it's a truly honorable pursuit. But you need to know that this is exceedingly dangerous. The Dark Lord does not appreciate people poking their noses into his business and his past. If you are discovered, you could die. And if on the slight chance you do manage to help this friend of yours get out of being a Death Eater, they will certainly want your head on a platter." She sighed. "I think I know who you're talking about, too. Are you sure he doesn't want to be a Death Eater?"

"I heard it from his own lips, Mother."

Mother and daughter studied each other for a while. Then, Rachael's mother walked over to her and hugged her tightly. "Please be careful, Rachael. I do not want to see you in your grave before I enter mine."

Rachael stroked her mother's hair solemnly. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."

_I hope_.


	5. Chapter 4: Her Plans: Last Day of Summer

**Chapter Four: Her Plans—Last Day of Summer**

Rachael spent the last week of summer in deep thought. She had three binders of information on Voldemort and the Death Eaters. She had considered sending either Dumbledore or Harry Potter an owl, but she wasn't sure if they'd really buy that she was trying to help Draco be free of the Death Eaters—or that he wanted to be free of them at all. Besides, what if the owl was intercepted? Rachael took her mother's words about drawing the Dark Lord's attention very seriously, and covered her tracks as best she could, and she didn't like the idea of a letter that could put her and Draco in such grave danger flying freely through the skies, where any halfwit could hex the owl out of the sky and have the letter very easily.

At last she decided that she could never steal Draco from Voldemort's clutches on her own. She needed help—big help. She needed to go to Albus Dumbledore in person, and beg on her knees if need be. And she needed to tell Draco her plans—and get permission to spill a few private details of his life, just in case she was desperate. She would vow to him to use sympathy as a last resort.

So she scrawled out a concise owl begging Draco to come visit her, even for a day. He replied that he'd come the Sunday before school started, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

She thought about how best to present the plan to him. It wasn't the noblest of plans, sure, but Dumbledore was on the good side, wasn't he? So he had to take pity on Draco, who of all people deserved it. She just hoped that Draco would opt for a surefire if cowardly plan over one that would bring glory to the Malfoy name.

Draco, Rachael was certain, would be the only uncertain variable in this plan. She could handle that. She knew (hoped like hell) that his good sense would win out over any possible shame.

Now she sat anxiously in her room, hands balled tightly into fists. She had stowed her research binders in the library because she wasn't sure how Draco would react. He was due around now.

A house elf named Kaylin knocked hesitantly on Rachael's door. "Yes, come in," Rachael said, trying to keep the tenseness out of her voice.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy is here, mistress," said Kaylin timidly. Though Rachael kept her voice even, Kaylin could no doubt see her rigid posture, the way she clutched the ends of the sleeves of her black cashmere sweater, the way her bare toes curled against the wood of the floor.

"Send him in," Rachael said quietly.

Kaylin nodded and left. A few minutes later, Draco, tired-looking in dark jeans and a navy sweatshirt, ambled in. He smiled at her, and she saw her own frantic exhaustion mirrored in his eyes. "Hey, stranger," he said affectionately.

She smiled back. "Hi." She walked over to the door and ushered him in, shutting it and muttering a silencing charm. She leaned back against the door and sighed. Draco was looking at her anxiously, opening his mouth to speak, but Rachael held up a finger, signaling him to wait. She sighed. "Sit, Draco."

He obeyed, but said, "Rachael, is everything o—"

"Shh. I don't know how to answer you. But let me talk." She took a deep breath, and when she was sure she had his full attention, began. "I know you probably came here for solace. But I haven't given up on saving you, and I think I finally have a plan."

"Rachael, it's too late. I'm beyond help." There was an urgent look in his eyes, a fearful look.

"No one is beyond help, Draco! I promise you, my plan—"

"Rachael, you're not listening to me. I'm _beyond help_." Hesitantly, his hand moved towards his left arm, and Rachael thought, _Oh no. Oh god, no._ But the sleeve came up to reveal the dread tattoo, the skull and snake in all their dark glory.

Rachael's eyes squeezed shut. "Pull your sleeve back down, Draco." She heard the faint noise of cloth sliding against skin. She opened her eyes again. She swallowed hard, and continued speaking. "That—complicates things. But it does _not_ render my plan invalid. Will you listen?"

Draco nodded, hopelessness in his eyes.

"All right. It's very simple. I've been doing some research over the summer, and I've realized that I can't get you away from Voldemort without help. We—I—have to go right to the top. We have to go to Dumbledore."

But when she said the Headmaster's name, a strange thing happened to Draco's face. His eyes widened and then his face froze, except for a few nervous twitches. "Rachael," he said in a ragged voice, "we can't go to Dumbledore."

Rachael's eyes flashed. _Damn it, Draco, you have to see that this is the only way!_ "Why not?"

"Because the Dark Lord has ordered me to kill him!" This stunned Rachael into silence. "And Potter would never accept it. Dumbledore's the only father he's got! He's not going to let a Death Eater near him, not even if I proved my loyalty a thousand times over!"

Rachael was shaking. "Jesus, Draco!" she said in a tight, high-pitched voice, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"How could I? I was being watched all summer!" His face was strained, and he looked miserable.

Rachael sighed, walking over and embracing him. "I'm sorry, Draco. I was just—surprised."

He returned her embrace with that bitter laugh that his lips seemed so fond of these days. "Surprised. Who wouldn't be?" He sighed. "Rachael, I want you to give up on this silly quest. My allegiance was chosen for me before I was born."

Rachael pulled back from the embrace and said, "Don't talk like that! This is only a minor inconvenience." She bit her lip, standing straight and crossing her arms over her chest. Draco was quiet while she thought, amazement and desperation creating a strange cast to his gray eyes.

Then an idea came. A crazy idea, but an idea, nonetheless. It would mean laying all her cards on the table. It would take every ounce of her people skills, and every scrap of sympathy for Draco she could dredge up. She grabbed his arm urgently. "Draco," she said, "Draco, would you let me tell someone a few of your secrets if it would save you?"

"What—what do you mean?"

"I have a new plan. It's insane, but it just might work."

Draco bit his lip. Then his eyes hardened. "Sure. I have absolutely nothing else to lose." His expression softened again, and he touched her cheek lightly. "Well. Almost nothing."

Rachael smiled, holding his hand on her cheek. "Whatever happens, you won't lose me, Draco." She sighed. "So what do you want to do for the rest of your visit? You have full permission to forget about our predicament for now."

"I don't know… shall we have a walk?"

Rachael's mouth quirked and she said, "Sure."

Draco stayed until dinner, when he said his mother wanted him home. And Rachael began to work out the details of her new plan, keeping the final ember of hope in her chest burning.

**Author's Note:** The reason that the chapter number isn't spelled out is that I wanted to fit the whole name. This may be the last update for a while, since I'm bound for camp on August 1 and won't have access to a computer for three weeks afterwards. I hope you enjoyed this segment of _Good Slytherin_, and leave me many reviews for when I get back!


	6. Ch 5: Tears From A Stone: Sixth Year

**Chapter Five: Tears From A Stone—Sixth Year**

Rachael waited a little over a week to implement the first stage of her plan, partly because she wanted to make sure Draco didn't catch the slightest whiff of what she was doing and partly because she still lay awake nights wondering what the hell she was going to do if this didn't work. But it had to—but what if—but it had to filled her thoughts, until finally she thought she might go insane unless she started the first stage now. And even after deciding that, she had to wait until Monday, which was the next time she had Potions at the end of the day. She bit her nails and gritted her teeth, planning every minute detail of that class and what she was hoping would come after.

But the day eventually rolled around. In retrospect, Rachael was glad it had been so long in coming. This part of the plan was very delicate. She was going to need to be in top form.

She got there late, which was the first part of the plan. Slughorn trained surprised light green eyes on her. "Five points from Slytherin, Ms. Coy," he murmured. "This is unlike you."

"Sorry, sir," said Rachael, sitting down. She thumped her bag onto the desk, and noticed with satisfaction that several students jumped. "Just had more important things to do."

"Excuse me?" He, and everyone else around him, looked shocked.

"You heard me, Professor. I said—I. Had. More. _Important_. Things. To. Do."

"Twenty points from Slytherin, Ms. Coy," said Slughorn coldly, eyes narrowed. "And why not stay after class. Perhaps cleaning without magic will teach you humility."

Rachael felt like goading him a bit further, but she had what she wanted. She endured strange stares and several confused notes from Draco: _What the hell was that? Why did you piss him off? _And when she replied _No reason_, he said, _You've lost it._ She smiled and wrote, _Perhaps._ Halfway through class, he sent her another: _No really. Why did you do it?_ After about three such notes, she started ignoring them. Draco tried to linger a bit so he could talk to her, but was quickly shooed away by Slughorn. Rachael tensed when the man came back into the room, certain that he'd ask her why she had behaved so uncharacteristically, but he just asked her for her wand, which she gave over with relief.

As soon as he left, Rachael began to search through the stores of ready-made potions, which had of late fallen into disarray and which she was now required to restore to order. She realized with glee that the potions were still roughly in alphabetical order. She darted straight for what must be the V cabinet.

"Veritaserum, Veritaserum," she murmured, poking through the mess of bottles. She grinned when she finally found a correctly labeled vial. She turned it over, looking for how much was in there. "Three hour's worth, I'd say," she murmured, and stuck it into the inside pocket of the sweatshirt she wore under her robes—she had worn it today for just this purpose.

She finished cleaning the room quickly. She had insisted on cleaning her own room soon after she'd started research on the Death Eaters for safety reasons, and she'd gotten quite good at getting it done fast. She bid goodnight to Slughorn, who did not try to hide his confused glances. Rachael smiled. Perhaps she ought to have kept up the act, but it would only have made Slughorn more angry. And anyway, it wasn't like he'd tell anyone, and if he did, they would probably put it down to hormones or a dare or something.

Stage Two started the next day after breakfast. Rachael ate quickly and left the Great Hall as soon as possible. Draco had only had time for one question, "Why are you in such a hurry?" She had replied that she was late with her homework, that Slughorn had given her a bit extra for her insolence, which had apparently "really wounded" him. Draco bought it, but just barely. _No matter_, Rachael thought, _just barely is all I need._

She lurked carefully outside of the door the Gryffindors usually came out of. _Damn it! Come on, classes start soon, why aren't you coming out?_ But at last they came, the famous Golden Trio. They were laughing about something, and Rachael almost didn't want to come over, knowing she'd ruin their contagious good mood. She bit her lip. _For Draco_, and walked over.

They all stopped, confused, seeing her green tie. She cleared her throat nervously. "I would like to speak to Mr. Potter alone, please," she said. "It's very important."

They looked at each other, Potter giving Granger a "should I?" look.

"What do you want to talk to him about?" asked Weasley uncertainly.

Rachael pursed her lips. "I'm—I'm afraid that's private."

Weasley gave Potter a smug look, and Rachael had to refrain from rolling her eyes. _He must think I'm blind_, she thought indignantly, _I know an "ooh, mate, she's sweet on you" look when I damn well see one. Can I please just go through with this without someone belittling my purpose?_ She noticed that Granger was staring at her, and did not deign to give her a questioning look. She was agitated. She needed to set up a meeting with Potter, and preferably soon. She was not going to stand for his friends impeding her progress.

"Okay, um—"

"Rachael. Rachael Coy." She looked about for a suitable corner, and nodded towards it. "Over there? It won't be long, I promise."

Harry Potter nodded. "Uh—sure." He followed her over. "So, er, what's this about, then?" He looked vaguely embarrassed. "I have a girlfriend. Just so you know."

Rachael rolled her eyes. "Potter, I am not quite _that_ out of the loop, thank you. I also happen to be in your year, and would appreciate not being treated like a smitten first-year." Rachael bit her tongue, realizing she'd just patronized Harry Potter. _Curb your bloody tongue! You're not helping Draco at all!_ But Harry didn't seem angry. He seemed… stunned. No, more than that—fascinated.

_What, Potter? Has Draco been the only one who was ever rude to you?_ The thought had no malice behind it, only curiosity, but she decided not to voice it anyway. She cleared her throat. "Anyway, Potter, I—I need your help with something. You're not going to want to, but I beg you to give me a chance to explain and try to convince you."

"Rachael? What's this about?"

She pressed her lips together, letting her anxiety show. "I can't tell you here. Can we meet later tonight, say, eight o' clock in the Room of Requirement?"

"Wait—are you sure you can't even give me an inkling?"

"It's to do with the Death Eaters."

Potter's back straightened, green eyes level. "I'll be there."

Rachael smiled. "Thank you. Really."

Potter scratched his head. "Well, thank you. For the information, I mean."

She was about to let him walk off, but she just couldn't. "Potter!"

He turned, and she beckoned him back over. "It's—it's not information, exactly. I mean, I—my best friend is in deep, deep trouble."

He frowned. "This best friend—this would be the reason I wouldn't want to help?"

"Um, yes. But—look, give me a chance to explain. No matter what. You'll promise me that, won't you?" she asked desperately.

"Yes. Our meeting's still on. See you at eight, Rachael."

Rachael waited until the Golden Boy was gone, and leaned against the wall, sighing with relief. This was short-lived, as she had to run to make it to class.

She forced herself to focus on whatever class she was in and not the looks and questions Draco was throwing her way every chance he got, not the tiny bottle of Veritaserum in her sweatshirt, and most definitely not eight o' clock in the Room of Requirement. Finally, after Charms—her second to last class of the day—Draco came up to her with hurt in his eyes, and she had to speak to him.

"Rachael, what is going on? I thought we didn't have secrets from each other."

She sighed and embraced him. "We don't, Draco. This is part of my plan, okay?"

"I want to know what your plan is. You're scaring me."

She threaded her fingers through his hair worriedly, affectionately. "Draco, have I ever failed you?"

"No."

"Then please, trust me now, when it's most important." She pulled back. "I love you."

He was still anxious, but at least the hurt was gone, and he sighed. "I love you too. Be careful, won't you?"

She smiled. "Yes." The smile faded as she said, "And you?"

"As much as I can be."

She bit her lip and hugged him again. _This has to work._

At fifteen minutes to eight, she made her way to the Room of Requirement. Her sense of direction had improved since she'd become lost trying to find Draco on the day he'd told her he was in love with Harry Potter, but she'd still had to ask Draco to write down the directions and then had to memorize them by reading them aloud several times.

She was early, but so was Potter. He was waiting for her uncertainly, sitting at an oaken round table with two chairs. He looked up. "Hi. I wasn't sure—"

"This is fine." She sat and reached into her sweatshirt, pulling out the bottle. "You know what this is?" She had torn the label off, just in case. If someone saw it who wasn't supposed to, she could say it was medicine. Only Draco knew her well enough to know that she didn't take any regular medication.

"I'm famously terrible at Potions." He adjusted his glasses, no doubt wondering what this mad girl was about. She wondered briefly whether he'd figured out who her best friend was. Doubtless Granger had; it all depended on whether she'd told him…

"Veritaserum. Enough to make a person tell the absolute truth for a full three hours."

Potter's eyes widened. "I won't—"

"It's not for you."

He was quiet. Finally he asked, "Why?"

Rachael sighed. "Because it will be very difficult for you to believe even half of what I tell you. I hope this will drive home the other half."

He paused. "Rachael, you don't have to—"

"I do. Believe me." She took a breath. "Before we start, Potter, I'd like to lay down a few ground rules. Number one, try not to interrupt me. If you have a burning question, you may ask it, but any ones that you can keep till the end of my tale, please do so. Number two, even if you don't accept my plea—that's what it is, Potter, don't look like that—nothing that I say leaves this room. Number three, Slughorn never knows that I took his potion."

Potter hesitated for a moment, but nodded. "Okay." He looked at her for a while, and added, "You must really care about this person."

She smiled sadly. "More than you know." She took out the stopper and put the bottle of Veritaserum to her lips.

"Rachael, are you sure?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Absolutely. It won't hurt me, Potter. And we're not talking about me here, if you want to put it in purely Slytherin terms. I have nothing to lose." She remembered when Draco had said that, and smiled. _Well, almost nothing._ Potter was quiet, and she downed the potion. They waited in silence for it to take effect.

Then Rachael started speaking. "I have exactly two people in this world who mean anything to me, Potter. The first is my mother. My father died when I was eight years old, and I have no doubt that under his tutelage, I would have grown into your average pureblood whelp. But my mother was different, and she knew that I was different. We knew that blood purity had bugger-all to do with anything. And so she let me be free, let me figure out who I was, and made me proud to be that person." She sighed. "The second one is Draco Malfoy." She waited for Potter to yell, say he was leaving, but he didn't. His eyes only flashed with some emotion she couldn't identify. She continued. "Draco reached out to me when no one else would. We became friends, and then siblings. We rely on each other. We—" she bit her lip, realizing that she was nearly in tears—"we're each other's lifeline. I love him."

Potter blinked. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Rachael laughed bitterly. "How could I not be? Veritaserum, remember?"

Potter nodded, bending his head. "I just—you—go on, please."

It was then that Racahel realized that he was surprised. She bit back a genuine laugh. Well, most everyone had someone, didn't they? Why not Draco, who was sweet and charming and funny and smart? But then, Harry didn't know that side of him. Yet.

So she told him. Rachael poured every ounce of her love for Draco out, eased by the Veritaserum, told what he meant to her and why. She told Harry Potter about how Lucius Malfoy had hurt his son. And finally, she told him about the day he'd said he didn't want to be a Death Eater—leaving out the part about Potter himself, of course.

When she was finished, it was ten-fifteen. Potter was looking at her intently, almost as though he was expecting more.

She asked the five most important words she'd asked in her life: "So will you help him?"

Potter leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Rachael," he said, "you've done something I thought no one on earth could do. You've made me feel sympathy for Draco Malfoy. You have, in effect, gotten blood—no. You've gotten tears from a stone." He smiled at her. "Of course I'll help."

She sent him a thousand-watt grin. "Thank you so much. I can't even express—"

He held up a hand. "But I want to know why you didn't go to Dumbledore."

Rachael sighed. "I—_Voldemort is manipulating Draco. He wants Draco to kill Dumbledore, and he's forcing him to do that by threatening to kill Draco's family._" Her eyes were wide and frantic, her hands over her mouth. "Please, Harry! I swear, if you help, he won't—he wouldn't—"

"I know, Rachael. I heard what you said. If I were in his place, I—" he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Is it necessary to keep this a secret from Dumbledore? I don't know if I can help Draco on my own."

"No. He probably already knows. But—we couldn't go to him, just in case something—didn't go right, and…"

Potter nodded. "I see. And you had to convince me that Draco wouldn't willingly do him harm."

Rachael nodded gratefully. "So you'll still help him?"

"Yes. But it's not because of him. It's because you love him so much." Potter shook his head. "I don't understand it. But—for whatever reason, you adore Draco. And although it's weird, I have to imagine he adores you too. I couldn't let him die when he means so much to you."

Rachael, speechless, reached across the table and embraced Harry Potter.


	7. Chapter Six: Technicalities: Sixth Year

**Chapter Six: Technicalities—Sixth Year**

"Wait, so you're going on a fucking _lunch date_ with Harry fucking Potter?" Draco's gray eyes were wide with incredulousness. It was the most life she'd seen in them in days.

"Harry James Potter, actually," Rachael replied breezily, adding, "And anyway, it's not exactly a date."

"I see. So only sort of?"

She gave him a look. "Don't be like that. We are, after all, discussing what we're going to do about you."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "Makes it sound like I'm a problem."

Rachael raised her eyebrows, smirking. "Aren't you?"

He stuck his tongue out at her. They were walking the circumference of the Black Lake. The sky was a kind of gloomy white-gray, the air slightly damp, but the forecasts of rain around now meant that almost no one was out, which served their purpose. And anyway, Draco was fond of such days. One of Rachael's fondest memories was the time he had told her that in the beginning of Fifth Year, to which she had snickered and replied, "Maudlin bugger." He'd laughed too, looking out at the sky, and said, "I'm not denying it."

"So what again is the aim of this little tête-à-tête?"

"We have to figure out where and how we're going to hide you."

Draco pursed his lips. "We could stage my death."

Rachael rolled her eyes. "You're so morbid!"

"I'm serious. It's a pretty good idea. If they think I'm dead, they won't come after me."

Rachael studied him, then mulled the suggestion over for a few minutes. "It would be difficult. The Dark Lord wouldn't fall for a simple parlor trick. And it has to be plausible."

"Sure. But won't Potter and the Apostles be able to work that out, if I give them some information?"

Rachael raised her eyebrows. "You do realize that what you're suggesting is exceedingly dangerous?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Snape does it, doesn't he?"

"You're not Snape."

"No, but I have also been careful not to display any aptitude for magic or cruelty if I can help it. Voldemort has no reason to suspect me of being anything other than a proud, inept fool."

Rachael bit her lip. "You're sure that he hasn't seen through you?"

Draco nodded shortly. "If he had, I would be dead."

#

Rachael sat across from Potter at a small table in the corner of the Three Broomsticks. She'd ordered a butterbeer, as had he, but she mostly had it for the look of the thing. Rachael had never been able to see what Hogwarts students saw in the stuff; she had never gotten into it, as it were.

They sat in silence for a bit, and then Potter raised his wand, murmuring, "_Muffliato_."

"So did you talk to the Professor?" she asked quietly.

Potter adjusted his glasses before answering, "I assume you mean _the_ Professor?"

"Yes, of course. What does he think we should do?"

"Well, he wants to bring you two to our headquarters to discuss with other members of the Order and from there to a safe house."

Rachael raised an eyebrow. "From which point we will—?"

"Hide indefinitely, most likely."

Rachael leaned back in her chair. "See, I thought as much. But the thing is, Potter—I don't really want to sit around doing bugger-all. I'm not in trouble. Voldemort and the Death Eaters don't know about me. Or if they do, they don't know much or don't feel threatened by me."

"And how would you be sure of that?"

The ghost of a grim smile slid across her face. "If they did, I'd be dead."

Potter shrugged, allowing for that.

"And really, it'd be a waste not to use me. Not to toot my own horn, but I'm a very apt witch."

Potter raised his eyebrows. "And what would you do?"

"Whatever's needed." She looked at him. "Don't look like that. I'm serious. Potter, this is war. There are not enough really good people in this world for you to snub me."

"Er—I wasn't—I mean—just, _why_?"

Rachael shrugged. "Does it matter? I have my reasons, I assure you."

Just then, his intense green gaze met hers, and for a moment she thought fleetingly that she could see how you could fall in love with that gaze, no matter the emotion it conveyed. "Enlighten me," he said, breaking the spell.

Rachael looked down at her slim fingers resting on the table. "Perhaps I just want Draco to see the light of day again. Or I might want to prove that Slytherin is not what everyone says it is. And maybe, just maybe, I actually support your cause, Potter." Her eyes flicked up towards him again for a second, darting quickly back down again. "Or, if it makes you feel better, you could believe I want to give the Coys an edge. If you win this war, it will get very bad for the purebloods of Britain."

They stayed like that for a while, a silent tableau amongst the noise and jollity of the Three Broomsticks. Then he said, "You're a very intriguing girl, Rachael. Very intriguing."

Amusement flashed briefly across her features. "Thank you." She looked up at him again. "So when does Dumbledore want to schedule our jaunt to Grimmauld Place?"

"Whenever. Soon."

Rachael frowned. "He didn't give you a time frame?"

Potter shrugged. "I mean, things are always uncertain these days. The best we can really go for is as soon as possible."

"So—is there any reason why next weekend wouldn't work?"

Potter frowned. "Don't think so. I'll ask if we can set it as a tentative date."

Rachael nodded. She thought a moment, then said, "So you're just planning to spirit him away?"

Potter shrugged. "We haven't worked out the specifics yet."

Rachael nodded again. "Draco suggested staging his death, which is a pretty good idea, morbid though it is. They wouldn't come after him if they thought he was dead. The only thing is that it would be really hard to do convincingly."

Potter looked at her for a minute. "_He_ suggested staging his death? That's… interesting."

"You don't know the half of it, Potter." She paused, then added, "Just—he'd kill me for saying this, especially to you—he's kind of fragile right now." She laughed slightly, although mostly without humor, and continued, "The whole Death Eater thing—you can't know how it's affecting him. And that's all I'll say." She sighed. "So you'll talk to Dumbledore about this and about my possibly helping the Order?"

"Yeah." Rachael noted that his face was somewhat closed off, not in a hostile way, but still not giving her any clues as to what was really going on behind those green eyes.

"And you know where to find me if and when you want."

"Yeah. And of course you know where to find me." He smiled, but there was an ironic tinge to it that saved the statement from any narcissistic connotation.

She returned his smile. "Of course. Be seeing you, Harry Potter." She left in a brown study, and decided that she had done the right thing by forming this unlikely alliance.


	8. Chapter 7: God in the DetailsSixth Year

**Chapter Seven: God in the Details—Sixth Year**

**WARNING: Character Death**

Rachael frowned, looking up and down the Slytherin table. Draco was quite conspicuously nowhere to be seen, and she was getting worried. He had eaten a brief lunch—she remembered him passing and hugging her hello, sitting, and then leaving again, having wolfed something down somewhere in between. She had tried to speak to him, but he evaded her questions or managed to have his mouth full before she could open her mouth. And now, he wasn't here at all.

Suddenly, her eyes met with a distinctive green pair. Her lips curved in a barely perceptible smile. Potter had obviously been engaged in a similar pursuit to her own. _Wouldn't Draco be pleased… if the git were here._ Then Potter was getting up and she sighed. Surely he couldn't be so stupid as to—but he was, he was coming straight for the Slytherin table. She quickly rose and walked towards the door at a brusque pace, surreptitiously meeting his eyes. _Follow me, Potter._

She walked sedately out of the Great Hall, thinking quickly. _Where would he be… Hm. It's bloody foul outside, so he wouldn't have gone to our tree or anything, which means that he's either in the Room of Requirement or at the top of the Astronomy Tower, assuming he hasn't gone back to his rooms. And if it's too foul for outside, I imagine it's too foul for the top of the Astronomy Tower._ She started to walk in the direction of the Room of Requirement.

She heard hurried, shallow breaths and running feet, and Potter fell into step with her. "Rachael! Hi. Um—did Draco come down to dinner?"

Rachael sighed. "He did not, and barely came down for lunch."

Potter's brow furrowed. "Is everything—"

"I don't know. I don't think so." She took a breath. "I'm going to find him." She paused, then asked, "Did you want him for anything in particular?"

Curiously, Potter just flushed lightly and said, "No, not exactly. Just—checking up on him, I guess. I mean, he was acting a bit strange yesterday."

Rachael frowned. "Strange how?" She had barely seen Draco yesterday, either.

"He was white as a sheet and in a foul temper. He even snapped at Parkinson."

"Did he?" Draco didn't much care for Pansy, but he was usually civil towards her. "Was there any indication of what he was upset about? Any griping along the lines of 'those bloody Gryffindors' or anything?"

Potter smiled at the example she used, but shook his head. "He was just really agitated. He seemed to be shaking a bit."

"Physically shaking?" Rachael's frown deepened.

"Yes. It was—worrying."

They started up a flight of stairs. Rachael curled a strand of dark hair around her finger absently, thinking. "He must have been pretty upset." She felt really uneasy. Draco was a master at hiding his true emotions. If he was this obviously upset, something really bad must have happened.

"Yeah, he looked it. Kept avoiding me, too, when I tried to ask him what was wrong." Potter growled slightly. "Difficult sod."

"More than you know, but he's got reason to be." She gave a slightly shuddering sigh. "I—I think it's got to have to do with the Dark Lord."

"Oh! That reminds me. I asked Dumbledore, and he said there's a way to subdue the Dark Mark—what do you mean? The Dark Lord doesn't know about this yet, does he?"

"You tell me, Potter. I've been exceedingly careful. Our having lunch the other day was a bit weird, but we haven't done much since then, so it ought not to have caught his attention." She remembered something Potter had said about trying to ask Draco what was wrong. "Did—did you talk to Draco in private? When you tried to get him to tell you what was with him?"

"Er—I sort of told him he looked terrible and I had something to discuss with him, and then I dragged him into a classroom—"

"Who saw you?"

"I don't know. The hall wasn't that crowded. I got a few weird looks—"

Rachael sucked in a breath. "I don't know whether he would have gotten that information that fast, let alone at all. But—" _what would Voldemort have done to upset Draco so? Did he ask about the Dumbledore job or something? But I still can't quite believe that even that would elicit such a reaction… His father is busy bending to the Dark Lord's will and kissing his ass… What could Voldemort do to really hurt Draco, to ensure his obedience?_

It hit her like a meteorite. "Narcissa!"

Potter blinked. "What?"

She ran a hand through her hair, eyes wide, chest suddenly tight. "Potter, we may have forgotten something very, very important." She said, quickening her pace.

"What? For Merlin's sake, spit it out!"

"Draco's mother!" She was practically running. "He hates Lucius—couldn't give a rat's ass about him if he tried—but Draco and his mother are really close. And she's probably in his clutches right now—oh god."

"Wha—Rachael, you're not making any sense!" Potter was even with her, matching her speed with ease. His green eyes were anxious and wide.

"Potter, you can be extremely bloody dense sometimes, you know that? The point is that if Voldemort can get at Narcissa, he can get at Draco! He can control Draco by hurting his mother!"

"Oh. _Oh_. And you think—"

"That he's sent Draco an ultimatum. Or that he's reminded Draco who's in charge by doing something to Narcissa."

"Merlin! Will we have to rescue her?"

Rachael rolled her eyes at Potter's word choice, skidding around a corner. "Probably. Draco would kill himself before he caused Narcissa's death, even indirectly."

"Oh _shit_!"

Rachael was running now, as was Potter beside her. "I'd have to concur with that statement. We need to get to him before he does something really stupid—" she stopped in front of the tapestry that led to the Room of Requirement. At the last moment, she turned to look at Potter and realized that bringing him in if Draco was indeed in there was probably a singularly stupid idea. "Erm, Potter—I think it's best if I tend to him alone," she said carefully.

Potter blinked, his mouth forming the word _why_, but then he blinked again and sighed. "Oh. Yes. Good idea. Just—let me know how everything turns out," he said lamely, well aware of the seeming futility of that statement.

Rachael smiled. "Sure. Be seeing you, Potter."

He smiled back, and although it was a bit strained, it was genuine. "See you, Rachael." He walked off, and Rachael entered the Room of Requirement, praying that Draco was okay.

The room she entered into was lit only by a faint blue luminescence suffused throughout the room. The floor appeared to be made of a pale wood, and the room was entirely unfurnished except for a large window directly across from the door. "Draco?" she asked, her eyes sweeping across the room. She had to look twice before she saw him huddled in the corner, knees drawn to his chest, his face hidden in them. "Draco," she said tenderly, walking over and putting a tentative hand on his back.

"I never should have listened to you," he said, voice drenched with tears. Rachael's eyebrows rose. "I never should have listened to a damn thing you said!"

"Why?" she asked, not allowing herself to feel hurt just yet. He was in a state, clearly, and probably didn't mean it.

"Because it gave me hope! Fuck hope. There's no salvation for a fucking coward like me." He sobbed. "I—I dared to hope! Is that such a crime?" Rachael opened her mouth to answer no, but he said, "Yes. For me, yes." He lifted his face, and the pain Rachael saw in the contorted features tore at her heart. "Well, I've paid! I'm sorry! I've fucking paid." His body was wracked with new sobs.

Rachael rubbed calming circles on his back. "Draco, what happened?" she asked quietly, fearing the worst.

She was utterly unprepared for what he said next. The apprehension and worry she had felt before did not at all cushion her fall into the pit of Draco's hopelessness that, being his sister in all but blood, she could not help but share for a minute. Her heart had shed gallons of blood for Draco, but now she was just—drained.

"They killed my mother," he said.

Chill horror began flowing into her veins. "Wh-what?"

"They just fucking—they sent me a picture of her corpse. They told me—he told me—that I was next, if I didn't do what I was told. But I don't care. Let them kill me! I don't care anymore!"

"They—they just killed her? No warning, no ultimatum…?" She felt horrible asking him questions after his mother had just been murdered by the Dark Lord, but her mind was numb, her mouth moving without her consent.

"Her death _was_ the warning." He said bitterly, voice raw with grief. "Well _fuck_ them and their warning! I don't care! I want to die! There's no point in living in this world if the people I love die when I try to be good!"

"Draco, Draco, don't…" But Rachael couldn't finish. She just pulled his limp form to her, stroking his pale hair, for once mussed and dirty instead of impeccably neat and clean. He cried in the silence, clinging tightly to her as she clung to him.

She couldn't tell him it would be okay. How plebeian, how insensitive and dry and insincere it would be to tell him that. It already wasn't. Draco had just lost his mother. But finally she started to murmur, "We will get you out alive, and we will avenge this. We will get you out alive, and we will avenge this." Apparently it was the right thing to say, because he didn't move away.

Eventually, his breathing slowed. She shifted him lightly, and confirmed that he was asleep. The Room of Requirement responded to her realization forthwith, a bed materializing in the center of the room. With difficulty and a few muttered charms, she was able to haul him onto it, tucking him in gently and kissing his forehead. "Goodnight, Draco. We'll survive," she murmured, knowing he couldn't hear but not caring.

She sat on the edge of his bed, deep in thought. What had happened with Narcissa was terrible, and it got her worrying about her own mother. Of course, she was not as close to the Dark Lord as Narcissa had been, but it was still possible that she could be attacked if or (as was more probable) when the Dark Lord found out her involvement in stealing Draco away from him. She decided to write her the next chance she…

Rachael smiled as a writing desk appeared in front of her, along with a quill, some ink, and a piece of paper. She set to work, scribbling out her letter as quickly as possible, then charming and cursing it so that no one but her mother would be able to open it. Apparently the Room of Requirement couldn't conjure animals, because no owl came, but Rachael was fine with that. She could send it tomorrow. She pocketed the letter and asked the room for another bed. She collapsed into it and fell instantly into a deep sleep.

Miraculously, she woke early the next morning. She roused a very tired Draco as well and accompanied him to his room despite its being against the rules (she tried to be law-abiding when she could). Then she went to Slughorn and got Draco excused from classes.

She sighed, staring at the Fat Lady, who was still asleep. This was not a familiar area of the school, although she could navigate Hogwarts as a whole much more efficiently than in Fifth Year, but she had picked up a few pointers on sneaking around from Draco and had exhibited a natural talent for the popular practice in the first place. It was doubtful that she would be let in, although she had changed out of her uniform for this purpose, but she wanted to speak to Harry and tell him about Draco's situation, and about her mother, and about all the other things buzzing through her mind regarding her decision to save Draco Malfoy and Harry's involvement in it.

Rachael wondered what to say for another five minutes, then decided to just wing it and that the truth would probably work better on the Gryffindor portrait. She cleared her throat. "Er, hello?"

The Fat Lady opened one eye. "Mr. Potter, is that y—oh, hello there. I don't recognize you."

Rachael smiled slightly. "My name is Rachael Coy, and I was wondering if I could speak to Harry Potter?"

The Fat Lady blinked at her for a moment. "I don't believe Mr. Potter is awake, and if he is, he's not here."

Rachael nodded. "I don't suppose I could go in and—?"

"You seem like a trustworthy girl, Ms. Coy, but I'm afraid that is against school rules."

Rachael nodded again, smiling at the "trustworthy girl." _Oh, if only she knew…_ "Thank you anyway. Good morning."

"Goodbye. Hope you find Mr. Potter later on."

"Thank you." Rachael sighed and returned to the dungeons. She took her time; she liked Hogwarts when it was empty. She could feel the life centuries of magic had given the castle, and it was surprisingly more comforting than being in an average house. She was just about to descend the steps to the door to the Slytherin common room when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She frowned, looking behind her, and saw no one. She shook her head and started down the steps, but then she was tapped again. "Who's the—"

"Sorry. Can't take off the cloak, since I'm not supposed to be here."

She blinked. "Potter? Is that you? How the—why can't I see you?"

"Difficult to explain. The Fat Lady said you were looking for me?"

"Yes. Um—what I have to say probably shouldn't be said here. There shouldn't be anyone in the common room at this hour… Speaking of which, why are you up?"

There was a silence and a slight shimmer in the air which Rachael conjectured was a shrug, and Potter said, "I—I don't sleep very well. Get up sometimes, wander the school a bit."

"I see." She paused. "Draco does that a bit too, although usually closer to night than morning."

"I know." She could hear the slight smile in his voice and wondered about its cause. _Come on, Matchmaker, not now._

"So—let's go, then." Belatedly she added, "You'll put your fingers in your ears for the password?"

Potter laughed quietly. "Sure."

"Really?"

"Yes! I'm a bloody Gryffindor, you can take my word for it."

Rachael laughed. She came to the portrait and said rather loudly, "Potter stinks."

"What? That's not the password," said the portrait, confused.

Rachael smirked and muttered, "Oh, sorry. Eyes on the prize." The portrait door swung open, and she felt a hand latch onto her arm. She settled in one of the green chairs, then frowned and said, "Wait here." She dashed up to her room, slipped in as quietly as possible so as not to wake her roommates, grabbed a book, and went back downstairs. Potter was no longer wearing his cloak and was giving her a weird look.

"Put it back on, Potter," she murmured. "And if you're wondering why I did that, it's obviously because if someone came down and saw me just sitting here, it'd look rather funny, wouldn't it?"

Potter snorted, now invisible once more, and said, "You know, for a while I wasn't sure you were really Slytherin, but now it's obvious you are."

She smiled. "The genuine article, Potter. And that better not have been an insult." She sighed. "I'd best get on with what I have to tell you. The less time you're in here, the less likely it is that we'll be caught." They were cutting it quite close; breakfast began at seven-thirty, and though it was six now, quite a few students rose earlier.

"Well? Go on."

Rachael closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "The Dark Lord has killed Draco's mother."

Potter sucked in a breath. "So we're too late."

Rachael nodded soberly. "I think Draco will be all right eventually."

Potter was quiet for another long minute. "You talked to him last night?" Then, hesitantly, "Was it bad?"

Rachael sighed. "Yes. It was bad. But he knows that whatever happens, he has me."

Potter laughed softly. "There you go being sweet about the git again. I don't get it."

"No. But then, you don't know him like I do. And you weren't exactly indifferent when you saw he was upset. Perhaps you don't hate him quite so much as you think." Rachael smirked.

Potter sat stunned.

"I'm not done with you, either, Potter, despite the fact that someone appears to have cast _Evanesco_ on your tongue. I'm sending my mother a letter telling her to get somewhere safe. I know your people are probably busy, but if it's at all possible that you could help…" She closed her eyes, fighting frightened tears. "It would be greatly appreciated. Which brings me to my next subject. I assume you haven't yet spoken to Dumbledore."

Potter found his voice. "Er, we—I'll ask about your mother. And about the other thing. Today."

The air was shimmering. "Potter, are you—twitching?"

The shimmering stopped. "I don't twitch. What are you talking about?"

Rachael sighed. "All right. Also ask him what we're going to do about Draco, and how this thing's actually going to _go_."

"Sure. See you around, Rachael."

"And Potter?"

He realized that she couldn't see he hadn't left, so he said, "Yes?"

"Thank you. For what you've done thus far and for what you'll do in the future."

"Er—you're welcome. See you."

Once she'd heard his footsteps fade, Rachael smiled to herself. She had made Harry Potter, who had faced the Dark Lord numerous times, besides no end of other Dark creatures, uncomfortable. In spite of herself and her situation, she laughed.

**Author's Note:** Sorry, sorry, sorry, this has taken _so _long, but I hope you find it worth it. Anyway, I wanted to explain the Narcissa Malfoy thing. About a paragraph or two into the chapter, I realized that I was going to kill off Draco's mother. I'm not really sure how it happened; ask the story. I also realized that Voldemort's defeat was going to have to be at least a little different than the way JK wrote it, although I was vaguely aware that that was so once I'd determined that Draco was going to be rescued (to use Harry's words) from being a Death Eater. So I don't know, it might get very weird and very different from the books, but I just hope you enjoy it as much as I do. And for those who are reading this more for the pairing than for the story, I'm terribly sorry and will hopefully begin to deliver soon ;)

And the chapter titles may continue to be weirdly formatted so that I can fit the whole thing :)


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